Jigsaw
by Fire Of The Stars
Summary: [complete]The people that she loves are dead. LIke a jigsaw puzzle, she is broken. Scattered. And searching for someone, or something to put her back together. Warning: self injury, implied incest
1. Prologue

Ginny awakens with the first light of day. The dream slips away as she opens her eyes. His touch slides away, leaving her skin cold.

She looks around the room that is so familiar. The orange walls, hung with Chudley Cannons posters.

His room.

But he will never be in it again.

She pulls on her long, scarlet dressing gown, and tiptoes out. No one in her family has realized that she sleeps in his room from time to time. That her nightmares have returned. And she is in no hurry for them to find out.

No sound is coming from the kitchen. It is completely empty. She remembers all the mornings when she would walk in to find her mother in front of the stove, frying eggs as pancakes flipped themselves.

"Mom," she calls," I'm making breakfast, would you like anything?"

She pictures her mother, laying in her bed. Her once plump face now gaunt and worn. Clinging to a picture of her husband, sobbing her heart out. The sound of her sobs is haunting to Ginny.

"No, thank you, Ginny, dear," comes the weak, weary reply.

She returns to the kitchen, flips on the stove, and gets out eggs and milk.

She reaches for a plate. It falls out of her grasp and drops to the floor, shattering.

Staring at the broken pieces on the tile, Ginny drops to her knees and sobs.


	2. Chapter 1: Ribbons and Lace

Chapter 1: Ribbons and Lace

Fred and George arrive on the morning of September 1, ready to escort Ginny to Kings Cross. She stands in front of the vanity in her bedroom, listening to them scuttling about below her. She examines her reflection. She carefully ties a black ribbon in her red hair. It matches the rest of hr clothes. All black, like a woman in mourning should wear.

When they reach Kings Cross, they walk in silence to the barrier between platforms nine and ten. There, she turns to face her brothers.

She feels as though she should say something. Like she should thank them, for everything they had done for her this summer. Without them, she would have run out of money a long time ago. But her tongue is thick in her mouth, her throat is dry, and her voice is nowhere to be found.

Instead, she hugs each of them in turn.

"Don't worry about anything," Fred says, patting her gently on the back. "Just take care of yourself, Gin, and we'll take care of everything else."

"Yea, Gin, try and have a good time this term."

She doesn't tell them that that seems highly unlikely. Instead, she disappears into the brick barrier.

She finds an empty compartment and settles down, watching out the window as students and their families say goodbye. She feels her heart wrench slightly, looking at all the fathers giving their daughters hugs, holding them tightly. She tears her gaze from the window and looks down at her hands.

She slides a hand under the edge of her sleeve, begins inching the fabric upward –

"I keep asking Father to send me to Durmstrang, but Mother won't allow it. She can't bear to be away from me."

She knows that voice. And it is getting closer. Footsteps are approaching, stopping as they reach the door to her compartment. She tenses up, letting her hand drop.

She closes her eyes and silently prays that they pass her by.

But, less than a moment later, the door slides open. And there stands Draco Malfoy, along with his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, and that total cow Pansy Parkinson, who follows Malfoy like a puppy.

"Well, what have we here?" Malfoy's voice is positively gleeful, his cold eyes glittering. "The littlest Weasley. And all alone. Where's your big brother, Weaslette?"

Ginny's eyes flash, she clenches her jaw, both against tears and against the urge to hex Malfoy into oblivion.

He laughs. "Oh, I almost forgot. Your idiotic brother got himself killed."

"He was _not_ idiotic," Ginny says, her voice low and cold. "He, along with the rest of my family, died a hero's death."

"That's where they went wrong. Trying to play the hero _is_ the idiotic thing."

She doesn't respond, but curls her hands into fists, her nails leaving crescent moons in her palms.

"Now," Malfoy begins, sinking into a seat, "Get out of our compartment."

"It's not your compartment. There was no one in it when I got here."

"We sit in this compartment every year, Weasel. You obviously have no respect for tradition."

She shrugs and picks at her cuticles. "Times change." And she doesn't move.

She focuses her attention out the window again as the train starts to move. Now there is only wilderness to admire, nothing to make her heart ache any worse.

Her wrist is itching. Forgetting momentarily about the other people in the compartment with her, or thinking they won't notice, she pushes up her sleeve and scratches the offending area.

It is only up for a moment, but that is long enough for Draco to get a glimpse of the dried blood on her skin.


	3. Chapter 2: The Truth About Broken Glass

Chapter 2: The Truth About Broken Glass

The Sorting and feast seem to drag on that night. She sees Harry and Hermione sitting together, both looking somber; sees the empty place where her brother used to sit. She sits as far away as she can, ending up beside Colin Creevey. He knows, of course. Everyone knows. But she keeps her eyes on her hands, a clear sign that she does not want to talk. And he doesn't push her.

But on her way to the Gryffindor tower, Hermione grabs her arm. She turns around to face her and sees a face lined with concern and grief.

"Ginny, Dumbledore wants to see you."

She gives Hermione blank look. "What for?" She, of course, knows what for.

Hermione drops her eyes. "I'll take you there. I know the password to his office."

"Do you know why I asked you here, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny looks at her shoes. Black boots that lace all the way up to her knees. She finds herself very interested in the laces.

"I asked you here because I feel you may need someone to talk to."

Again, he is met with silence.

Professor Dumbledore sighs and slides his half-moon spectacles higher onto his nose.

"Your father – and your brothers – were good men. They died fighting for the cause. Your brother, Ron, died defending his two best friends. I think he wouldn't have wanted it any other way. "

She swallows a sob and nods.

"I encourage you to confide in someone. Anyone. Perhaps someone from your own house. Perhaps a teacher. Even me. But bottling up your emotions can be very dangerous."

She does not tell him that, to her, it seems as though she has no other choice. She has never had an intimate friendship with anyone at Hogwarts, aside from Ron, and occasionally Hermione. But Ron is dead and Hermione is just as torn apart as she is, so how can Ginny expect her to console her?

Dumbledore offers her a lemon drop, but she declines, even though she has eaten nothing today.

And he wishes her a good night.

She stands in the shower, letting the hot water rain down on her cold skin, warming it. It pounds against her flesh, a gentle massage. She braces herself against the wall with her arms, closing her eyes against the current of water. It is then that her eyes fall to the skin on the underside of her wrist.

There, several thin gashes run across her arm. They are only surface wounds, not very deep at all. But they contrast starkly with the pale white pallor of her flesh.

_The pieces of the plate lay before her as she kneels on the ground. The tears are finally subsiding, leaving her eyes stinging and her cheeks tight. _

_She looks down at the broken glass._

_Not fully realizing what she is doing, her fingers close around one of the shards. _

_She lifts it, poises it above her arm._

_She pushes it down and drags it across the flesh of her wrist, and watches as blood blossoms to the surface._

Ginny is pulling her robes out of her trunk the next morning when she hears a small _chink_ sound. She looks wildly around, before her eyes settle on several small, silver razor blades, laying on the scarlet carpet.

She remembers finding it. The day after the broken-plate incident. She had been searching through her father's old collection of Muggle objects when she had stumbled upon a pile of the thin things. Glancing around nervously, she had put them in her pocket.

Now, she stuffs them hastily into a pair of green socks that the house elf Dobby had given her, hoping no one else had noticed them.

But she keeps one out, feeling its coolness against her palm. She slides it into the pocket of her robes and straightens up like nothing has happened.


	4. Chapter 3: Watching My Life Spill To The...

Chapter 3: Watching My Life Spill To The Floor

When she arrives in the Great Hall for breakfast, Colin is already there. When she sits down, he hands her a schedule with her name at the top.

"We have Snape first," he says, making a face. "With the sixth year Slytherins."

Ginny says nothing, though she feels he expects a negative reaction. She simply folds the paper and slides it into her pocket, then takes a bite of toast. It feels dry in her throat. Difficult to swallow. She sets it down again and looks at her plate. Nothing arouses an appetite. Not much has since . . .

She stands and throws her school bag over her shoulder.

"Where are you going?"

"Class," she answers shortly.

Colin looks at her like she is insane, and as she walks away, she hears him mutter "nutters" under his breath.

She walks towards the dungeons, her head low. When she hears a familiar and irritating voice, she swears under her breath.

Sure enough, Draco Malfoy is sauntering her way, having just exited the Slytherin common room, and obviously on his way to breakfast. He is on his own, possibly for the first time in Hogwarts history.

As he sees her, he smirks.

"Well, Weaslette, we meet again."

"So I see, Ferret Boy."

His eyes flash. "All alone, again, I see."

"And you. I thought those goons were an attachment. Did you have them surgically removed?"

"You wound me, Red. I am perfectly capable of traveling these dark halls alone."

"I'm sure," she mutters. Then, rolling her eyes, she says, "I'm late," and attempts to bustle past him.

He steps in front of her, his eyes glittering.

"Get out of my way, Malfoy," she says, spitting his surname like a curse.

"Temper, temper. You Weasleys are all the same. It must be all that red hair, addling your brains."

She feels anger rise in her chest and raises her hand to smack him.

He catches her wrist in his hand, his grip as strong as iron.

"You'd better be careful, Red. If you step too far over the line, there's no going back."

She wrenches herself free of his grasp, throwing him a daggering look. He laughs cruelly and walks away before she can say another word.

Not that she wanted to, anyway.

By the end of the day, it feels as if there is a tiny insect living beneath the flesh of her arms. It makes her skin itch and crawl, and no matter how much she scratches, it will not cease.

And though Ginny tries to deny it, tries to tell herself she will not do it again, she knows what she must do to make it stop.

The razor blade feels like an anvil in her pocket.

She paces the corridors, searching for a place to go. The Gryffindor tower is too crowded. The showers not private enough.

Finally, she catches a glimpse of an empty classroom with the door slightly ajar. The Muggle Studies classroom. Glancing around to see that no one is watching, she slips inside and closes the door behind her.

The room is pitch dark. There are no windows through which the moonlight can shine. There is only the thick blackness of the night, all around her.

She finds she likes it this way. She feels as though it is proper for the occasion. Fitting, somehow, for the act she is about to commit.

She slides to the floor, closes her eyes, and replays the day's low points in her head. She wants to be sure it deserves what she is about to do.

Potions had been a disaster. Setting the theme for the rest of the day. What had been one of her best subjects seemed to be completely above her head. She could not concentrate on any of the instructions, and her truth drought had smelled strongly of rotten eggs.

The worst, though, had begun at lunch, when she had found Harry waiting for her outside the Great Hall.

"Hey, Gin," he had said, clearly uncomfortable.

She had looked at him, but not said a word.

"Look, I was just checking to see . . . To see how you're doing," he said, looking down at his feet. "I know you were really close to – to all of them, and I know this has to be hard. It's not easy for me, either . . ."

He had trailed off and raised his eyes to hers. Those brilliant, emerald green eyes that seemed to peer right through you. And she knew, she knew what was coming. One of his famous this-is-all-my-fault tirades. She couldn't handle one of them right now, even if part of her felt it really _was_ his fault.

So she said, "I'm fine" and forced a smile to prove it, and he, satisfied, had walked away.

The worse had turned to unbearable when Luna Lovegood caught up with her on her way out of Transfiguration.

"Do you miss your brother?" she had asked.

Ginny hadn't answered straight away. She had merely stood there, her brows drawn together and her head buzzing from the impact of such a simple and powerful question.

"Well, do you?"

She had opened her mouth to respond. She had felt the words nearly springing from the tip of her tongue. But they broke under the weight of a sob that it took all her strength to swallow. And she had walked away.

Now, the question rings in her mind.

_Well, do you?_

"Yes," she says aloud. "I miss him so much it's killing me inside."

She chokes on the last words, and, without warning, tears begin pouring down her cheeks.

Shaking slightly, she pushes back her sleeves and pulls the razor blade from her pocket.

In one swift motion, she draws the blade across her skin. Slowly once, pressing down only lightly. Then, pressing slightly harder. Then, angrily swiping it as fast and hard as she can, so that the skin splits open almost a centimeter wide, and it takes the blood at least a minute to fully rise to the surface.

She does this again, and again. Varying pressure and speed. Her breath coming in short gasps and her tears flowing in angry torrents.

And when her tears begin to subside, when the anger and pain begin to ebb away, she lets the blade drop from her hand, now limp and tired at her side. She watches as the dark blood drips down her wrist, over the palms of her hands, onto the floor. And as the blood flows, her energy leaves her, and she is suddenly very exhausted.

And so she sits on the floor, perfectly still, watching the blood making patterns like spider webs over her flesh, and a small smile lights her worn, tired, and tear stained face.


	5. Chapter 4: I Spy

Chapter 4: I Spy

Ginny strides down the corridor, a smile lighting her face. It isn't genuine, but that no longer matters. Nothing matters now that she has the power of pretending.

She takes the long way to Potions. Even with her new-found strength, she isn't prepared for a run-in with Draco Malfoy. He seems to know exactly what to say to crack her armor, and that simply cannot happen.

She makes it to class without any problems and thinks to herself that today is going to be a good one.

Class goes well. She finds it easy to concentrate now that her mind is unclouded by little stresses. She knows she now has a foolproof way to deal with them. Power over her circumstances. All in the form of a tiny blade. And no one needs to know.

--

Draco glances around him, taking in the dark corridor. He knows she will be coming this way soon. She has come down this corridor nearly every night for (at least) the past month. Always ducking into the same classroom. Professor Vector's room, if memory serves.

And though he has been following her for the past month, he still has no idea what she does every night. And that makes him all the more curious.

_It's near curfew_, he thinks. _Now, I wait._

--

_"I," Ron says, pointing to himself and smiling proudly," am the prince. And you –" he points his finger at Ginny," are the princess."_

_Ginny smiles and giggles lightly. "Do I get to dress up?"_

_"Of course," he says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. "Let's find Mum."_

_And so, they charge off to find their mother, who is in the family room, knitting a new Weasley sweater. When they come to a halt, laughing rather loudly, she glances up at them, a warm smile on her face._

_"And what could my two lovely children want?"_

_"Ginny needs a dress, Mum," Ron says. "She's a princess."_

_"Of course she is," says their father, just entering the room, a cup of coffee in hand. "I think your mother can, er, rustle something up. Eh Molly?"_

_"Of course I can," Mrs Weasley says jovially. "Just give me a moment."_

_She disappears into her bedroom, and returns after a moment holding an old ball gown. She explains that it is what some witches wear to formal occasions, rather than dress robes._

_Ginny personally thinks that is a little silly, but doesn't say anything because the gown is beautiful. Shimmering, pale pink shimmering fabric. It's a little tattered at the hems, especially near the off-shoulder sleeves. _

_When she puts it on, she is practically swimming in it. Her mother laughs before magically taking it in._

_She twirls for all of them, and asks Ron what he thinks._

_His seven year old self smiles and says, "It's brilliant."_

Ginny's eyes snap open, a strange warmth swimming through her. She looks wildly around her, realizing after a moment that she has fallen asleep in the common room, an all-too-common occurrence of late. Her Arithmancy book lays open on her lap, and she pushes it off, relieving herself of its weight.

But the weight on her chest doesn't let up. She feels as if she is slowly suffocating. She reaches up to wipe the sleep from her eyes and finds that they are wet with new tears. _Damn it. _

She glances around, looking for others, but judging by the darkness outside, they must all be in bed.

She springs up, walks out of the common room and across the castle, finally reaching the Muggle Studies classroom.

She closes the door firmly behind her and slides down to the floor, the small razor in her open hand.

--

He has been sitting here for nearly 3 hours before he finally sees a flash of red. It is the smallest Weasley, still in her school robes, and looking as if she has just awoken from a nap. Maybe that is why she is later than usual. __

She is striding purposefully down the corridor, her step slightly faster than usual. Usually it appears as if she is taking her sweet time, and now her steps have an almost angry quality to them. __

He watches her disappear into Professor Vector's room, and sighs as he realizes that now he has a whole other wait ahead of him.

But this one isn't nearly as long. After less than fourty-five minutes, he hears the door open.

She is walking past him when he hears the small 'clink' of something hitting the floor.

It is only after she has disappeared that he scrambles out of his hiding place to see what it was.

His stomach gives a funny feeling when he realizes that it is nothing more than a small, silver razor blade. __


	6. Chapter 5: Secrets Revealed

Chapter 5: Secrets Revealed

Ginny collapses onto a scarlet chair in the common room, sighing loudly. Hermione glances over at her, raising one eyebrow, but saying nothing before turning back to her own homework.

She looks around the room. Looks at all the people she has known for years. Colin Creevey is helping his brother learn how to operate his over-large camera. Seamus Finnigan is the target of doe-eyed gazes and giggles from Lavender and Parvati, both of them wearing their hair in perfect plaits.

And there is Harry.

He is sitting in a chair next to the window. Gazing out of it. He appears completely lost in thought. She wonders what is occupying his thoughts now. Whether it is Ron, Sirius, or Voldemort.

He has been noticeably subdued lately. He barely speaks to anyone. Not even Hermione.

She considers going over and attempting to engage him in conversation.

But at the same time that she pities him, she wants to smack him across his perfectly innocent face. Make him realize that he is not the only person who has suffered losses. Far from it.

So, she opens her Potions book and flips to the page about Truth serums. The assignment is to write a foot on the effects of the different ingredients in Veritaserum.

Sighing one last time, she begins to read.

--

She isn't sure what brings her to the Muggle Studies classroom that night. Nothing outstandingly bad has happened.

But since that summer, no matter what kind of day she has had, nothing feels quite right.

And she is starting to find that once the wounds begin to heal, once they fade, her skin doesn't _look_ right either.

And so, she shuts the door behind her and sinks to the floor, sitting with her knees drawn to her chest.

She shrugs off her robes, taking the razor from the pocket.

But this time, it is only after she has made the first gash that her mind travels back to her childhood, and she begins to cry.

_"Ron?"_

_Her brother glances over at her, as they both lay on their backs on the grass. _

_"Yeah?"_

_"Have you ever kissed someone?"_

_His face flushes slightly red. "No. Why?"_

_Blushing slightly herself, she says, "I just wondered what it was like. It must be nice."_

_There is silence for a moment. And then, he is lifting himself up and leaning toward her._

_And his lips are brushing against hers. Lightly, so lightly._

_It is innocent and sweet, and everything a first kiss should be. _

_"So," he says, sounding uncomfortable, turning his face back to the sky. "Erm.. Was it nice?"_

_"Yeah," she says, smiling slightly. "It was."_

She drops the razor and cradles her left arm to her chest as blood flows down it, crying and quietly sobbing.

She doesn't hear the door open.

--

After a half an hour, Draco is getting impatient. He turns the tiny blade over in his hand.

_What in hell was she doing with this?_

He finally decides to walk in and see what is going on.

To his surprise, the door isn't locked.

He opens it and steps in, glancing around.

She is in the middle of the room, where Professor Vector must stand during lessons.

She has one of her arms held to her chest. And something is on her arm. Something dark.

Something red.

_Blood._

"Jesus, Weasley, what the hell are you doing?"


	7. Chapter 6: The Confrontation

Chapter 6: The Confrontation

She jumps in surprise at the voice, her heart hammering against her chest. She looks wildly around, and then her gaze falls on the door, where Draco Malfoy is standing, a nasty sneer on his aristocratic face.

_Oh, fuck. _

"What are you doing here?" she asks, furiously wiping tears from her face. She tries to sound angry but just sounds scared.

"What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?"

She narrows her eyes. "That's none of your business."

"I'm a prefect. So, yes, it actually _is_ my business."

"Oh, take your prefect badge and shove it," she says, sniffling and snatching her robes up from beside her. She stands and begins to put them on, when he catches sight of her arm.

It is covered in red cuts. Some healed, some still open and bleeding. Some wide, some thin, but all deep.

He steps forward, closer to her. When he speaks, his voice is softer. "What did you do?"

She pulls on her robes and brushes her hair back over her shoulder. "Nothing."

"Those aren't nothing."

She sighs loudly and makes for the door. He grabs her wrist in an attempt to stop her, but she wriggles free of his grasp and he finds that he is in a mild state of shock.

He lets her go.

--

She walks with angry steps back to Gryffindor tower. The weight on her chest is almost crippling now. She feels more fear than she thinks she should.

But Malfoy knows. He knows her secret.

_No, he doesn't _know_ anything. He just thinks he does._

_But still, I have to be more careful from now on._


	8. Chapter 7: Cryptic Wisdom

Chapter 7: Cryptic Wisdom

"Hey there, Red."

Ginny rolls her eyes at the familiar voice. "I thought I told you to go away."

She practically hears him smirking. "No, you said no such thing."

She doesn't look up from the book in her lap. "Well, then, I'm saying it now. Go away."

"No can do."

She sighs loudly, a frustrated sound, and closes her book. Draco sees the title _The Works of Edgar Allen Poe _in bold, black letters against the red leather cover.

"Who is Edgar Allen Poe?" he asks.

"A Muggle poet."

He makes a face. "You read Muggle nonsense?"

"It's not nonsense. Far from it. It's . . . well, it's hard to explain."

"Well," he says cheerfully, "I didn't come here to debate reading material."

"Then what did you come here for? I'm sure it can do nothing for your reputation to be seen with a Gryffindor. Better yet, a Weasley."

"You know why I'm here," he says, his voice no longer light.

"Nope," she says, reopening the book and turning her attention to the pages. "No idea."

He snatches the book out of her hands and grabs her shoulders. "Don't play dumb with me, Weasley."

She angrily pushes his hands off of her. "Why do you even care?"

"I'm not sure," he replies uncertainly, frowning slightly. "But the point is that I do."

She stands up then, brushing dirt off of her jeans. "Well don't. It will get you nowhere."

And she walks away, leaving him with the book in his hand. and a frown on his aristocratic face.

--

"Ginny," comes a breathless voice beside her.

She pauses in mid-step and turns to see none other than Harry Potter standing there.

She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at him appraisingly. He flushes slightly under her gaze.

"I was just, erm . . ." he looks down at his feet, then back at her, straightening his glasses. "Was Malfoy bothering you back there? Because if he was, I can take care of him. I could really jinx him proper."

She can't help but smile at his grim concern, and she hides the grin behind her hand.

When she finally fixes her features into a straight face, she says," It's ok. I've got it under control."

And, for the second time that day, she walks away, leaving a confused boy in her wake.

--

Later that night, in Professor Vector's room, an exhausted and teary-eyed Ginny hears the door open. She frowns at the floor as Draco strides in, his very manner of walking speaking of a purpose that she knows but chooses to ignore.

"Go away," she mutters angrily.

But, instead of leaving, he kneels in front of her. He picks up the razor from the floor beside her.

"Strange, isn't it?" he says, turning it over between his thumb and index finger and regarding it with a calm expression. "How powerful a tiny piece of steel can be. How comforting."

She glances up at him, her tear stained face twisted in confusion.

"It seems like it can fix all your problems. After all, how much harm can something that small do?"

"What?" she sputters, "How do you –"

He raises his eyes to meet hers, brown locking with cold grey.

"But it is far from harmless. It will tear your world apart. Slowly, but surely, it will."

He holds out his hand, offering the blade to her.

"Think about that," he says, as she wraps her fingers around it once more.


	9. Chapter 8: Know Thine Enemy

Chapter 8: Know Thine Enemy

_"Ron, you best hurry, the train is leaving any moment now."_

_Ron nods, silencing his mother._

_He turns to Ginny. His eyes are warm and glowing with excitement and quiet concern. He puts his hand on her shoulder and she jumps forward, catching him in a tight embrace._

_"Promise me you'll write, Ron?"she says into his neck._

_"I promise."_

_"And . . . Promise me you won't forget about me."_

_He pulls back slightly to regard her, pushing a stray red curl out of her eye. _

_"Never."_

Her eyes snap open and she glances around the room. Through the window, the first light of day is streaming into the dormitory. She sighs heavily.

_That is the third time this week that I've dreamt about him. I just wish I never had to wake up._

She turns onto her back and raises her arm in front of her, pulling back the sleeve of her shirt. She gazes at the healing wounds on her arms with a strange admiration.

_"It can tear your world apart. Think about that."_

She groans to herself as Draco's words flash through her head. That, too, has become a most common occurrence.

She hasn't visited the Muggle Studies classroom in almost two weeks.

She isn't sure what has stopped her. But she thinks part of it has to do with fear of seeing Malfoy again. Of the way he looks at her, like he knows all of her secrets.

Of the fact that he does, in fact, know her deepest secret.

And seems to understand it more than she can fathom.

--

"Malfoy."

He tears his gaze from the lake in front of him and glances briefly up at her.

"Well, hello, Red. Long time, no see."

"What did you mean?" she asks, placing one hand on her hip and regarding him with narrowed eyes.

"Beg pardon?"

"What you said. To me. What did you mean?"

"I should think that would be obvious. Even to the likes of you."

She sighs, a frustrated sound. "How do you know?"

He takes a cigarette and lighter from the pocket of his black trousers. "Sit down, Red," he says as he puts the cigarette in his mouth and lights it.

She hesitates a moment before doing as he says, automatically drawing her knees up to her chest.

He exhales slowly, emitting a cloud of pale smoke and looks at her. "Why do you always sit like that?" __

"Like what?"

"Like that."

"I don't know. Habit, I guess."

"Hm."

She stretches her legs out in front of her, as if to prove a point. "So, are you going to answer my question?"

He takes another drag off his cigarette. "What question?"

"How do you know about . . . You know."

"Cutting?"

She looks at him in surprise.

"Jesus, Weasley, if you do it, you should be brave enough to call it what it is."

She blushes light pink across her nose, making her freckles even more visible, and he thinks to himself that she is fairly cute that way.

He holds out a cigarette, offering it to her. To the surprise of both of them, she takes it.

"It doesn't really matter how I know, does it?" he asks, lighting it for her. "All that matters is that I do."

She inhales deeply, coughing as she exhales, and says," You know, I'm getting really tired of these cryptic answers."

He shrugs. "That's me for you, Red. A man of mystery."

"But you're good at figuring other people out."

"Yeah, well, that's Father's doing. 'Know your enemies', he says."

She looks him in the eye. "So, am I your enemy then?"

He finds that her eyes are full of a certain intensity, something that only she possesses, and that seems to be drawing him to her.

"No," he admits, flicking his ashes onto the ground. "I think not."


	10. Chapter 9: The Beginning

Chapter 9: The Beginning

"So," Draco says, three weeks later,"Are you ready to tell me how this started?"

She looks at him. "How what started?"

He is still looking at the sky when he says,"You know what."

"Oh," she mutters, blushing,"Right. That."

"Yes, that."

"Well – Erm –"

"Yes, I can see how that would be very upsetting," he says, deadpan.

She glares at him in mock anger. "Do you want to know or not?"

He turns his eyes to her. "Yes," he says, completely serious.

She closes her eyes and begins.

--

_"We are here today to lay to rest the bodies of Arthur, William, Charles, and Ronald Weasley."_

_Ginny stares at the ground as Dumbledore speaks, tears falling silently down her cheeks. _

_Fred and George are on either side of her, their hands laying comfortingly on her shoulders. Miss Weasley is sobbing beside Fred as he pats her awkwardly on the back._

Four Weasleys in one day, _Ginny thinks. _The Malfoys must be having a field day.

_Hysterical laughter bubbles forth from her lips, but dies under another fit of sobs. _

_She is barely aware that Dumbledore has stopped speaking, until Fred is nudging her gently forward. It is time for their final goodbyes._

_She stops in front of her father's coffin first. She places a hand on the polished oak, watching as tears splatter onto the surface._

_"Daddy, it's your little girl," she says quietly, trying to hold back sobs. "I'll miss you. I'll take care of Mommy for you, Daddy. I promise."_

_She places one white rose each on Bill and Charlie's coffins. _

_When she reaches Ron's, she feels her knees go weak. _

_"Ron," she breathes, running her hand over the wood surface. "You promised me – You promised you would never leave."_

_She furiously wipes at her eyes, but the tears keep coming. _

_She looks down at the last rose in her hand. Pure white._

_But as a single tear falls onto its petals, it turns black._

_Somehow, to her, it is prettier that way._

_She places it on the casket and whispers, "Save me a place in Heaven."_

_--_

She is staring up at the stars, but her vision is blurred by tears.

"A broken plate, huh?" Draco says, his voice oddly flat.

She looks over at him, and is surprised when he reaches his hand out and brushes a stray tear away with his thumb.

The hand beside her slides over her own, until they are level.

And he laces his fingers through hers.

And, for the first time she has ever seen, Draco Malfoy smiles a real smile.


	11. Chapter 10: In Draco's Room

Author's Notes:

This chapter is just a bit of fluff for d/g fans. I tried to keep Draco in character, but he seems to lose his fierceness around our girl Ginny...Enjoy =D

Chapter 10: In Draco's Room

"Are you sure it's alright for me to be in here?"

Draco leads her by the hand through the door, into his darkened room.

"Nope," he replies, pointing his wand at the ceiling, causing light to flood the room.

The room is full of deep green velvet covered furniture. She glances around, obviously impressed.

Her eyes fall on his bed, which is large, with a silver canopy over it, and made up with black satin sheets.

"Satin sheets," she says, smirking. "How did I guess?"

"You're just that good, I suppose." He gives her one of his smiles, the ones she is still getting used to.

The ones that make her feel slightly weak-kneed.

"Yeah," she says, smiling despite herself. "I guess I am."

She stands in the middle of the room while he mills about, straightening things on various shelves. Things that look dangerous and rather creepy.

She is running her hand over the black satin sheets when he says,"Oh, yeah, I meant to return this to you."

She looks at him to see him holding her red, leather book of Edgar Allen Poe's works and wrinkles her nose.

"How long have you had that?"

"A while," he says, tossing it to her. "Interesting bit of reading. Perhaps not _all _Muggle writing is rubbish. But don't let anyone know I said that. My father would have a fit."

He sits on the bed and beckons for her to come sit beside him. Blushing slightly, she does so.

As she sinks onto the bed beside him, his hand finds hers and they both smile, somewhat sheepishly.

"I still don't know why you care about me,"she says, as he runs his finger along her jawline.

"But that no longer matters, does it?"

Closing her eyes, she replies lazily.

"Nope."

--

It is early the next morning when he wakes up. With the first grogginess of morning, he doesn't remember why the bed feels so warm. Until he looks down and to his right. That is when he sees her.

She is curled up beside him, one hand under her pillow, beneath her head, and the other resting on his chest, rising and falling as he breathes.

She isn't wearing her school robes, and the white tee shirt she is wearing shows her arms. Criss crossed with pale pink scars and angry red cuts.

He turns to face her, her hand falling to rest beside her face and lets his eyes run over her scars, old and new. Over her shoulders and up to her face.

Anyone who told you Ginny Weasley was plain looking would be lying through their teeth. Even he, as a Malfoy, would never claim such a thing. When it came to beauty, Malfoys never lied.

Her pale pink lips are parted slightly, revealing a glimmer of white teeth. Her eyes are closed, her long lashes fluttering over the tops of her cheeks, where there is a dusting of freckles that stretches over the bridge of her nose. Her expression is one of total peace.

But then, suddenly, it isn't. She is drawing her eyebrows together, biting her lip.

And then, without warning, tears are flowing down her cheeks, and she is whispering a single name.

"_Ron_."

He shakes her gently, and watches as her tear-filled eyes flutter open. She looks wildly around, wiping her face as if she does this every morning.

Which, for all he knows, she probably does.

And in that moment, she looks more fragile to him than anything he has ever seen in his life.

And, for reasons he still cannot discern, his only thought is protecting her.


	12. Chapter 11: Shame

Chapter 11: Shame

She strolls into the common room, a genuine smile lighting her pretty face. She is walking up the spiral staircase to her dormitory when a familiar voice stops her.

"Afternoon, Gin."

She stops on the steps and smiles down at him. "Afternoon, Harry."

"Did you come in last night?"

"No," she says smoothly. "I was out late studying and fell asleep in the library."

"Really?"he asks, raising one eyebrow. "Then why did Draco Malfoy walk you to the portrait?"

Heat rushes to her face. _Why are you blushing, Ginevera? You've done nothing wrong. _

"I – Erm – "

"What are you doing hanging around with him?"

"I'm not 'hanging around–"

"You weren't at lunch yesterday, or dinner. You missed breakfast this morning and Colin says you weren't in Potions or Transfiguration."

"You know, Harry," she says angrily, crossing her arms over her chest." With all the tabs you're keeping on me, it seems a lot like stalking."

"He's evil, Ginny."

"Yeah," she replies coolly. "He is."

"Then why would you –" He breaks off, pacing angrily at the foot of the stairs, his brilliant green eyes narrowed. He stops and looks her in the eye. "What would Ron think?"

She blanches, her arms falling uselessly at her sides. She swallows bile. "How dare you," she says through clenched teeth. "How dare you bring him into this."

"He hates Malfoy. You know that! And with good reason! All Malfoy has ever done is torture you and your family! If you become friends with him, or worse, if you become more than friends with him, you are insulting Ron's memory. And being involved with Malfoy makes you lower than low."

She opens and closes her mouth, at a loss for what to say under his angry, scrutinizing glare.

Slowly, a heavy weight falls onto her chest, making it harder and harder to breathe. The room seems to be getting smaller and smaller, and her head is spinning.

Reminded suddenly of the razor that is still in her pocket, she does the only thing that makes sense.

She runs.

---

Draco takes his usual seat at the front of the Slytherin table for dinner, but keeps his eyes trained on the other end of the hall.

He has been watching her long enough to know where she sits. Right behind that mousy-haired, totally annoying camera-head Creevey.

But she isn't there.

He turns his focus to the great oak doors, sure that any minute she will come striding through them.

But as dinner passes, as the course appear and disappear onto the platters, she doesn't come.

So, when his house mates are heading back to the common room, he begins to walk in the opposite direction. Towards Gryffindor tower.

Pansy Parkinson catches his arm and pulls him into a corner.

"Draco, honey," she coos, flashing him a blinding white smile. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Pansy, darling," he says in a mockingly sweet voice. "You exist to look pretty. When you start asking questions, it just complicates matters. And we all know complexity can be confusing for girls like you."

She folds her arms over her chest and regards him coldly, her smile turning sardonic. "You're looking for that Weasley brat, aren't you?"

"What makes you think that?"

She rolls her eyes. "Fine, act dumb Draco. But everyone saw you leading her into your room last night. You never did perfect the art of stealth. One aspect of your training that you are weak in."

She sighs and begins examining her pink polished nails. "So, why are you looking for her? It's not like you to go back for seconds."

He shoots her a glare.

"Oh, what? You don't actually _like _her, do you Drakie? Because that would be just pathetic."

"Have you gotten rid of your hot air yet, Parkinson? Because I have something I have to do."

She doesn't respond, and he storms away.

"Well, it looks like it's worse," she says to the hallway. "You don't_ like _her, Drakie. You _love_ her."


	13. Chapter 12: Heroes and Villains

Chapter 12: Heroes and Villains

He is running to the Gryffindor tower. His mind is flashing with images of her, her face glowing red with embarrassment and happiness and her freckles standing out clear as day against her pale skin.

He barely notices that he is nearing the Fat Lady until he feels himself collide with something hard.

He falls onto his back and feels his head strike stone. It hurts enough to stun him for a moment, but then he is scrambling to his feet to see what it is he ran into.

And he finds himself staring straight at Harry Potter.

"Potter, what in bloody hell are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" he responds, rubbing his forehead, where their heads must have collided. "What are you doing on this side of the school?"

Well," Draco says smoothly, dusting off the front of his black trousers. "It's a free school. I can go anywhere I want."

Harry is standing now, and turning away.

"Besides," he continues, "I was looking for a certain redhead we both know. Have you seen her?"

"What do you want with Ginny?"

"That, Potter, is none of your business."

Harry glares at him. "You stay away from her Malfoy."

"I don't think that's your place to say, Pothead. Now, have you seen her or not?"

"I don't care what you think you have going with her, it had better stop."

"Really?" Draco asks sarcastically, cocking an eyebrow. "And what do you intend to do about it?"

"Well, I'm sure Ginny will come to her senses eventually. I mean, sure, she didn't take it to heart this morning, but –"

"Wait. You talked to Ginny about this, this morning?"

"Yeah," Harry says levelly, meeting Draco's angry gaze. "Yeah, I did."

"Potter, you are a moron! A bloody effing moron!"

"What in hell do you mean, calling me a moron?"

"You really know nothing, do you? Do you have any idea what you may have just done?"

"I haven't done anything!"

"You should consider yourself lucky that I am in a hurry right now, because if I wasn't, I would hex you into oblivion. But no, now I have to go play the bloody Hero, because you already played the part of the Evil Villain."

Harry stares at him in bemusement.

"Oh, but don't worry. When I get my Triumphant Return, we'll be hexing up a storm."


	14. Chapter 13: Blood of the Earth

Chapter 13: Blood of the Earth

She is running. She isn't sure where she is going, only that she must get away. Away from Harry. Away from Hogwart's. Away from life.

She wishes that Draco was with her. She has a strange hunch that if he were, she would feel a whole world better. But he undoubtedly has better things to do.

Her mind is on Harry. On what he said.

And the fact that he is right.

Ron would have rather died than seen his sister with a Malfoy.

_But we haven't even done anything. I haven't even kissed him._

_But that isn't for lack of wanting. And maybe wanting him does make me as bad as he is._

_But how bad is he? Really? Sure, he's a sarcastic bastard most of the time, but lately he has been . . . _

_What? Sweet? That's not exactly the word._

_Just..._

_Different._

She is outside now, running toward Hagrid's hut.

And towards the edge of the forest.

--

Professor Vector's room is empty. Not that he really expected her to be there anyway. Too predictable.

Wherever she is going, she doesn't want to be found.

_Which is precisely why I need to find her so badly._

He is sighing loudly, pacing beside one of the windows, when he sees a flash of red out of the corner of his eye.

He turns his attention to the window, and sees a tiny figure running toward the Forbidden Forest.

A tiny, _red haired_ figure.

–

Ginny trips over a tree root and falls face first onto the ground. Her tears mix with the dirt on her face. She struggles to her feet, and then collapses once more.

She feels sick, sick and disgusted with herself.

She sits down, indian style and shrugs off her robes, tossing them to the ground next to her.

And pulls out the razor.

As she cuts, her vision goes slightly blurry.

The world begins to spin in front of her.

She drops the blade and is able to take in the blood running down her arms before all goes black.

--

Draco runs as fast as he can to the edge of the forest.

There, he stops, his deep-seated fear of the dark depths of the forest returning to him in a rush. He recalls his first year, when he had to go in for a detention, with Potter, of all people. He knows Harry was laughing at him for his fear. But the forest was always his one weakness.

Before her, that is.

He takes a few deep breaths before burying the fear under his determination to find Ginny before something really bad happens.

_Unless it already has._

He pushes that thought away and starts running once more.

--

It is fairly deep into the forest when he finally catches anther glimpse of red hair.

He slows to a walk, so as not to frighten her, and makes his way toward her.

But when he is closer, he feels his heart drop into his stomach.

It is Ginny, alright, but she is unconscious, in a puddle of her own blood.


	15. Chapter 14: Safety

Chapter 14: Safety

He sets her down, gently, on his bed. His back aches from carrying her all the way from the forest, and he is covered in her blood, but he doesn't care.

"I should really take her to Madam Pomfrey," he says to himself. "But she would hate anyone seeing her like this. And I know some basic healing spells. I can deal with the deepest of them."

He conjures a bowl of warm water, a wash cloth, and some gauze.

He dips the wash cloth in the water and runs it across her forehead.

She makes a small noise and her eyes flutter open. He watches her take in her surroundings, look wildly around the room, and finally land her eyes on him.

He gives her a small wave and watches her smile weakly back.

"Morning, red."

She moves to sit up, but winces as she puts her weight on her arms, then glances down to survey the damage.

He watches her narrow her eyes at the sight of her arm covered in wide, deep gashes, most still bleeding lightly.

"Damn," she whispers.

"Damn is right," he says softly. "You really did some number on yourself, Red. You're lucky you didn't die. You lost a whole hell of a lot of blood."

She looks down, then back up at him. "I don't even remember. . . doing this. I don't remember anything past Harry–"

"Well, Potter has earned himself a good jinxing or so, and I will take care of that. After I take care of you."

He walks to her side, kneels by the bed, and gently pulls her arm to him.

He points his wand at her and mutters something she can't understand. A second later, the cuts close, turning to thin red lines.

"That's the best I can do," he says. "If you want any better, you'll have to go –"

"No," she says quickly. "No hospital wing."

"I figured as much. That's why I brought you here, not there."

"Thank you," she whispers, as he wraps gauze around her arm.

He doesn't respond, but is surprised when she puts her hand on top of his, stopping him in his bandaging of her arm.

He looks up at her, feeling something inside him go weak at the sight of her brown eyes glittering with tears.

"I mean it. Thank you."

He shrugs. "Had nothing better to do."

She smiles. "Can't you just accept my gratitude?"

"Of course I can. I'm a Malfoy, I can accept anything someone gives me. Hell, I love accepting gifts."

"Why did you come after me?"

He frowns at her. "What do you mean, why?"

"Well, you told me a while back that playing the hero is idiotic."

"Well, it is. But I guess it's okay when it . . ."

"When it gets a pretty girl in your bed?" she teases, laughing.

He meets her eyes, his grey eyes completely serious. "When it really matters."

He watches her blush, and feels a smile creep across his face.

"Have I told you that it's really cute when you do that?"

She blushes deeper. "Did you, Draco Malfoy, just use the word cute?"

"I did, didn't I? Well, you know that if you tell anyone, I will have to kill you."

"Understood."

She lets her gaze travel over him as he gets to his feet, and her eyes widen as she sees thta he is covered in blood.

"Draco, I ruined your shirt!"

"Oh, right," he says, and she blushes redder than ever when he begins to take it off.

She can't help but notice that his chest is incredibly toned. And smooth.

But then, she sees something that makes her blood go cold.

She stands up and crosses over to him, ignoring him as he asks her what she is doing.

And traces her fingers over several small, silver scars that form the word HONOR.

Her eyes on the scars, she whispers. "Now it makes sense."

"So, now you know," he says, sounding uncomfortable and slightly angry.

She raises her face, locking her eyes with his.

"Your secret is safe with me."

The anger fades from his face, and all that is left is a softness she has never seen in him before.

Perhaps it is that that makes her do what she does next.

Perhaps it is how good it feels to be that close to him.

Perhaps it is temporary insanity.

But the reasons don't matter.

Because, she, Ginny Weasley, is kissing Draco Malfoy.

And she likes it very much.

fin


End file.
